Grime and Punishment

Last night I went to a friend’s birthday party in some hideous club in West London. Also in attendance were Rob (you will no doubt remember him from such blogs as Mothering Fights), and the best friend of the birthday boy, who after this exact event last year asked me out on a date and then never called me back.

Contrary to popular belief, I am a proud creature. Askingmeoutonadateandthennevercallingmeback wounds my sense of self *sob*... So when I realised that Ed (for this is how he shall be known) was going to be out last night, I determined to do everything in my power to teach him a lesson. “Ha! Take that you blithering idiot. That’ll teach you never call me back!” I was going to punish him by making him realise exactly what he was missing.

Several hours of careful make-up application and a new outfit later, and I was ready to roll.

I arrived at the party and carefully circulated the room, all the while trying to be gregarious and coquettish simultaneously. If it sounds contrived; it was. It was awful. Eventually I got round to Ed... I was just in the middle of being perfectly friendly andyetstillvaguelysuperior, when Rob walked in. Rob and Ed don’t know each other, but here’s the thing – Rob and I have been sleeping together on and off for the best part of 2 years. What’s the etiquette when it comes to this kind of social situation? Must I consider his feelings whilst I go about teaching Ed a valuable lesson about respect? I’m not sure, but it made life just that little bit harder... and I was already quite stressed.

Fast forward several hours and two important things had taken place. 1) Rob had taken me aside and declared that despite being “emotionally stunted”, in his “own way” he “adored me”. Never have three pairs of words done so little to attract or enthuse me. 2) Ed and I had begun flirting. A lot.

I was so excited about teaching him a lesson. Yes! I was so glad he was witnessing how witty and clever and fun I am. Not to mention devastatingly sexy. The conversation went as follows:

Ed: (dead pan) I can’t give you what you want, you know...
Me: (dead pan, yet also devastatingly sexy - obviously) What do I want? I was just hoping for a bit of casual sex to be honest, Ed.
Ed: Oh right... Out in the alleyway then is it?
Me: I was thinking the toilets, actually. See you there in five?

Now, at this point we were both still joking... I think. We continued the countdown (*checks watch* “Four minutes to go” etc). Then, after the given 5 minutes had elapsed, Ed leant over (I was dancing to Raspberry Beret) and said: “Well, that’s time up. Come on then.” He clearly didn’t think I was going to go. I gave him a withering look... “Ed. Sweetheart. This is Prince. We can go after Prince, but not a moment before.”

The final chords of Raspberry Beret saw me leading Ed off the dance floor and towards the loos. This was one hell of a lesson I was about to impart! We walked the length of the god-awful club and reached the Ladies. This was turning into the greatest game of chicken anyone has ever played. I escorted him to the last cubicle and pushed him inside it. Take that, you non-caller-backer, you! You... You silly idiot!

The next few seconds were a bit of a blur, but next thing I know my shoes were skittering out under the door, my tights were on the floor, and I was sitting on top of a semi-naked Ed. We were having sex.

Haha! HaHA! I win, I win! Boy was he learning a valuable lesson about... HANG ON A MINUTE! What the f---?! This was the worst fucking lesson ever! The lesson was basically: Never call me back and I will still sleep with you! Ignore me and I will still sleep with you, in even more compromising circumstances than I would have before! I mean... A loo cubicle in West London’s least appealing nightclub? This was certainly compromising. This was downright grimy.

Would you believe me if I told you that just as I had my epiphany about what a big idiot I am, MC Hammer starts playing? “Can’t touch this... Duh duh duh duh, du duh du duh...”. Life’s a bit surreal at times.

It was all over relatively quickly (Oh, Ed... Shame), and I dismounted and put my tights back on. I fished for my shoes under the cubicle door as gracefully as I could. I was still reeling from my internal revelation that I am not some kind of disciplinarian for serial neglecters of women... But I managed to keep my cool. “Well, it’s been nice seeing you, Ed.”... and then I sauntered out.

Back on the dance floor I ran straight into Rob. I didn’t really want to see him, let alone be pressed against a wall and kissed. My first thought was: ‘Shit! Can he taste Ed?’ (Sorry, but it’s true!). I wriggled free and gave him what I hoped was a sort of sympathetic/friendly/back-off sort of smile - These are not easy to master. There then followed what felt like half an hour of me firmly telling Rob that I didn’t want to stay at his house... Because I couldn’t be entirely frank about why I might not want to sleep with him on this particular night, not now, I just spent the whole duration of the conversation saying ‘no’. Rob does not like the word no (not in a rapist sort of way, he just likes getting what he wants), and it took quite a long time to explain to him that it was not going to happen.

By the end of it all, I was feeling fairly worn down. So when Rob suggested I sleep over tomorrow night (tonight, dammit!), I buckled under the pressure. I am so weak of willpower. Tonight it is. Hooray for seeing Rob.

Will I be teaching him any of the important life lessons I imparted to Ed?! I’ll keep you posted.

BeDJ